Fenris Takes Some Advice
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: Fenris is stuck. He hates mages, but he trusts Hawke, and he can't reconcile the two. The more he fights alongside her, the more trapped he is. He has to do something, and Varric may know what. One-shot, complete. AU, mild language, basically fluffy.


Fenris stood outside the door of the Hawke mansion and felt like an idiot. He'd walked into her house more times than he could count in the last week, much less the last few years. The door looked no different than it ever had. He looked at it closer and sighed. Well, Isabella had added a new, lewd decoration to the frame in the last few days, but that was hardly intimidating. In Tevinter, when you were a slave, lewdness was a way of life. The lyrium etchings in his skin had drawn the mage rulers of the nation to him unceasingly, and Danarius hadn't hesitated to loan his pet out to whomever the mage wanted to bestow their favor upon him. He'd submitted to worse acts before breakfast than most Fereldans had ever considered in darkest night. They were a repressed bunch.

He sometimes wondered if his life before the markings, the times he couldn't remember, had been cleaner. Looking at the way other slaves had been used, he doubted it. He had no illusions about the lure of his own body. Whether he was aggressive or passive, cutting or kind, eyes followed him wherever he went. He'd learned to ignore it when he could, use it to fuel his fighting skills when he couldn't.

No, if it was a matter of seducing Hawke, he would already be in her bed. They'd spent only one night together, years ago, but he knew she still desired him. She was polite about it, never overbearing or suggestive - he wished he could say the same for Isabella - but he felt it all the same. A thrum of electricity hummed between them constantly. It surged especially after fights, when he was at his most feral. At those times, memories of her, the way she'd responded to his need with a fire of her own, were close to the surface.

He was used to dealing with his own primal nature, controlling it as easily as his hands controlled his sword, but she made him feel more savage than usual. Several times he'd considered crossing his own personal line again, leading them down the path they both craved, but he'd always resisted for two reasons. One, she was a mage, and he couldn't trust her no matter what his body wanted. And two, in spite of that fact, he knew he already trusted her with everything.

Someone, anyone, having that much power over him scared him to the bone. He'd fought long and hard to free himself from the slave's life, and he had no desire to chain himself to the unknown again, by choice or not. His baser mind didn't seem to care and fought to surrender itself to her. He could no more reconcile the two parts of himself than he could bring his memories back, and he'd chafed as he warred inside. And now he was here.

Damn Varric and his ideas.

He'd almost gone to Aveline, easily the most sympathetic of his handful of friends, but he had no intention of winding up on some mountaintop in a convoluted scheme with the rest of the group watching. Anders alone would be insufferable. And he'd considered Isabella, but she was too much like him, too ready for the bed and not at all prepared for what came outside of it. So Varric it was. While he did his share of philandering, Fenris sensed that the dwarf knew what it was to love against his better judgment.

Varric had laughed, but not as much as he'd feared. They'd sat in his rooms at the Hanged Man and drank enough to be comfortable. "Look, it seems to me like you've got three choices. One, you just live with it the way it is. Not a long term solution, I'm guessing, but you'd be amazed at how long you can stretch out the short-term."

Fenris thought, then shook his head. He could take whatever internal agony it would create, but he knew better than to think his nature could be bullied into patience.

"Okay. Two, you forget the noble, lovelorn warrior thing and get down to business. You don't have to tell me she wants you. If I couldn't tell from all of those smoldering looks you give each other, I'd know from the number of times she chooses a mopey elf at the Blooming Rose. I'll give you a hint: it's every time." Fenris growled. "Don't worry, Broody, she doesn't have the frequent member reward card or anything."

"Charming." He leaned back. "Even if I could without getting in my own way, which I doubt, I wouldn't want her to think… well, that it was like that. I've had enough of empty sex in my life."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "You seem awfully convinced that she's looking for more than some rolls between the sheets with you."

His stomach clenched. If he'd read her wrong, if she was only interested in his body… No. He remembered her face when he'd walked away, the hurt in her voice. It had cut at him even then, before part of his mind had rebelled against his own iron will. It was what was pulling him apart now. "She is. She wants something more. But she's a mage. She'll turn on me once she knows I'm in her power."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like Hawke's style. She's so controlling and spiteful. With your rosy perspective on people, I can see why you have so many friends." Varric sighed. "The third option is that you learn to trust her. All of you, not just whatever part is driving this."

"Oh, of course. I'll just rewrite my entire history. That should only take me a few eternities," he spat. He stared into his drink, then drained it.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Why don't you just talk to her more? As Hawke, not as a mage or the Champion or whatever you call her in your head. It seems like you two only fight beside each other or, well, the other thing with each other. Or think about it anyway. Maybe if you saw her when she wasn't throwing lightning you'd forget that outside shit and see the woman she is." Varric snapped his fingers. "Like a date! Take her to dinner. Talk. Have some wine, drop her off. Don't go inside. You'll be happier in no time."

Fenris stared at the door in front of him again and tried to summon up the sensation of happiness. Nothing but discomfort and irritation. He snarled to himself, but quickly stopped when the door opened. Hawke stepped through and almost ran into him. "Fenris!" she said, throwing him a brilliant smile. "Did you get tired of your own mansion and come for a change of scenery? Or are you my new door guard?"

She wore casual clothes, but he said the first thing that came to him. "Are you going on a mission?"

"It would give our enemies more of a sporting chance if I went weaponless and armorless," she said, "but sadly for them I'm just going for a walk."

"Oh," he said. He mentally shook himself. "Actually, I wondered if you wanted to go to dinner. Unless you've already eaten."

"Nope, that sounds great. Are we meeting the gang at the Hanged Man? If so I should probably get a dagger, just in case."

"Ah, well, no. It was just going to be me. And you. Somewhere in Hightown." He stared past her left ear and waited for her to refuse. He knew mages were arrogant, too proud to accept an invitation from a slave.

Instead, he saw her mouth drop in the corner of his eye. When he looked her full in the face, her blue eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Is this a date?"

He shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed further. "Okay. Should I go change into something nicer?"

She gestured up and down and spun slightly. She had on a worn but comfortable tunic and leggings, nothing special except that she was in it. Her smile was mischievous, and he knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. He gritted his teeth. "What you're wearing is fine."

"Then lead on."

* * *

><p>Conversation started slowly. He'd been so sure she'd refuse he'd never thought about what might come after, and their list of taboo topics was much longer than the safe ones. Magic, his past, politics, circles, their companions, all led down dangerous paths. Eventually he asked about her own past, and her stories of Lothering and her siblings carried them through the evening. He was content to listen, noticing how she adroitly danced around the topic of her apostate father and instead focused on her own misadventures in the town.<p>

He sipped his wine as she finished a story of how she'd locked the Reverend Mother out of the Chantry and shimmied out a window, forcing them to call a locksmith to open it back up again. He smiled slightly and tipped his head to her. "I notice all of these stories share a certain theme," he said. "You're the instigator, and the Chantry never fares well."

"Well, the Reverend Mother wasn't particularly swift. Luckily I only got punished for about half the things I actually did. And once I got old enough, the discipline was better than the pranks. With the right lay brothers. Some of them probably still can't take their vows." She grinned and her eyes sparkled. Heat rushed through him, but he didn't give in to the temptation she offered.

"Was it because of your father?" Her eyes widened. He was moving into treacherous waters, but he'd done this to learn about her. To see if he could trust fully. He'd already known that Hawke could charm when she wanted. He also knew her beliefs ran deep, even when she was canny enough not to show them. He needed to see their origins. "It couldn't have been easy, listening to their teachings, knowing what he was. What you are."

No shine in her eyes now. "I don't want to talk about this with you." He remained silent. She tried to regain her footing. "I'm more interested in not talking at all, actually."

He felt no rush of heat this time. Her words were reflexive, and her voice was brittle and full of anger. He leaned his elbows on the table. "I didn't invite you here for sex, Hawke. That could have been accomplished much more easily where we already were."

She laughed, a hard sound in her delicate mouth. "They've never heard of buying a girl dinner first in Tevinter? Or, after last time, you think I'm easy enough not to need one." She pushed herself away from the table, but he grabbed her hand, tightly enough to keep her still but not enough to cause pain.

"I don't say these things to hurt you, Hawke. I'm not good at lying to spare feelings. I asked you here to learn about you. Understand you. My… response to you is not what I expected." His voice was rough to his ears, a little desperate. He looked away.

She sat frozen. He felt her hand relax under his and he loosened his grip. She stared at their fingers before speaking in low tones. "The Chantry said my father was a criminal. They said I was a criminal. People looked to them for protection and comfort, but none of it was ever for us. We had to go, to blend in, but I always hated it. The dampness, the statues with terrible blind eyes, the Reverend Mother holding a mouth full of poison."

He hesitated, but replied, "Mages are dangerous. Your father was playing with his life, and with yours. You still do."

She started to argue, then slumped. "Maybe mages are dangerous. We fight enough of them, I guess. But my father wasn't a mage. He was my father, and he was love and safety and generosity, all the things the Chantry never was." She said quietly, "He didn't feel dangerous. And neither do I. But locking us away from each other, from our family, would have certainly made us so."

He bowed his head. He didn't know what family felt like, wasn't even sure he had any, but he heard her pain. He thought about her being locked in a tower, away from him, and he understood. At least a little.

"Thank you for your honesty," he said. He tried to put as much warmth into his voice as he could.

In a flash, she was back to the usual Hawke. She pulled her hand back. "Never lie to an elf laced with lyrium. That's one of my most sacred rules."

* * *

><p>They talked a little longer, more easily, lingering companionably. When they walked back, he fell in closer to her, and his hand brushed hers frequently. Tiny jolts of desire ran through him with each touch, and he thought about Varric's advice to stay outside. He wondered if he had enough control. They reached her door, and he saw she was thinking along the same lines. Her voice was husky as she asked, "Would you like to come in?"<p>

She stood half in shadow, half in light, and it made her look dangerous and strong. Not like mages were dangerous, not like warriors were strong, but like a woman who would grab a hold of him and never let go. The old fear hammered at his heart, but it was a little quieter. A little less. He took a hold of himself and shook his head. "No, thank you." She looked disappointed. "Not tonight," he added, to soften it.

Her eyes were still uncertain. "Okay. Thanks for the dinner, it was fun. Well, most of it." She turned to go inside, and he couldn't let her go away hurt. He grabbed her and lowered his mouth to hers. He tried to keep it light, not get carried away, but she tasted of the wine they'd finished at the table, her hands were on his waist, and it was impossible not to get swept away in her response. He curled his hand behind her deliciously bare neck and pulled her closer. Her mouth opened under his, and he groaned as she drew him into it.

Screw it. Just because he was staying outside didn't mean he had to leave it there.

He pushed her back into the door, underneath the cover of shadow, and kissed her in earnest. He kept one hand around her head, protecting her from hitting it on the wood, but made no attempt to be gentle. She replied eagerly, matching his roughness with her own. His other hand drifted down to her hip, rubbing over the fabric of her leggings with his fingers. She hissed and pushed him away, twining her fingers in his instead. When he growled in protest, she brought her lips to his ear. "Not fair if you're not coming in." Her voice was laced with enough frustration to send him through the roof.

Instead he rumbled a laugh and fluttered kisses down her jaw and back to her mouth, moving more slowly and listening to her purr. After a final, gentle kiss, he stepped back. His hand was still in hers, and her face was flushed with desire. She glared at him, beautifully.

"I think I owe you a few more dinners first," he said. "How about every night this week?"

She tried to pout, but a smile slipped out to ruin the image. "Deal. And if you end each meal like that, I'll throw in lunches, too."


End file.
